“Heaps of white bones.”
“And we will take the shovels and make a tumulus by the shore.”
The red glow on the wall slowly dimmed, the colour left the pear, and the song of a thrush came from the orchard.
“I want to make some magic,” said Bevis, after a pause. “The thing is to make a wand.”
“Genii are best,” said Mark. “They do anything you tell them.”
“There ought to be a black book telling you how to do it somewhere,” said Bevis; “but I’ve looked through the bookcase and there’s nothing.”
“Are you sure you have quite looked through?”
“I’ll try again,” said Bevis. “There’s a lot of books, but never anything that you want.”
“I know,” said Mark suddenly. “There’s the bugle in the old cupboard—that will do for the war.”
“So it will; I forgot it.”